“I remembered to put sugar in it this time,” said my mum, as she handed a steaming mug of tea to Flossie.
Wait — yesterday Flossie drank a mug of tea with neither sugar nor complaint?
“Yes. I often drink tea without sugar, if I haven’t any to hand.” She confessed this in a remarkably matter-of-fact tone, considering my ensuing horror.
Every relationship is based on trust, on certainty, on specific immutables. In our case: how we, respectively, take our tea. And now I discover that Flossie has been lying to me all along.
About tea.
If she’s deceived me about — of all things — tea, how can I ever trust her again? How can I be sure that she likes fish, as she claims?
And if tea and fish are in doubt… well, frankly, what’s left?
You neglect to mention that, in my sleep impoverished state, I was not coherent enough to finish sentences, let alone notice whether the very welcome mug of tea contained any sugar.